Checkmate!
by Khell
Summary: Not quite an answer to the challenge to show a character punch-drunk. Also, not quite an answer to have one character convince another one to do something stupid. Instead, I decided to show the aftermath of the former colliding with the latter ... ;)


**Checkmate!**

A blaring alarm klaxon brought her back to awareness. She fought past the nausea and cobwebs in her sleep-addled brain and the skull-splitting headache and finally managed to open her eyes just enough to be able to see her alarm clock, seize it and throw it at the opposite wall. A final warbling sound and the blaring stopped. With a soft groan she turned around to turn her back to the window and draped her arm over her eyes. Yes, fine, so the blinds were drawn but it was still too darn bright.

No good. She had to get up. Calling in sick wasn't an option. As her father always said: When you can party, you can work. So after another minute or two, she opened her eyes again, dragged herself to the bathroom, popped two aspirin and waited for them to start to kick in before she turned on the light. It still made her wince.

She looked at herself in the mirror.  
"Francine Desmond, you look like death warmed over", she told herself and winced again because it was too loud.  
Thank heavens for her crazy make-up skills. It would take a while but she'd manage to get herself in a presentable shape.

It was only when she lifted her right hand to brush the hair out of her face when she noticed she had some sort of makeshift bandage on her wrist. Not much of a bandage, in fact – just a square of gauze taped over the inside of her wrist.

"What the –"  
With a frown she peeled off the tape and lifted the gauze to see what it was covering. And froze. And stared.  
"No friggin' way!"  
She dropped her hand and stared at her mirror-image again.  
"What the hell happened last night?" she murmured.

* * *

They had been celebrating, all together, at Ned's – she remembered that much. A big coup – they had managed to overthrow a big KGB-ploy that very well could have provoked a third World War. Beaman had been in an especially good mood since he had contributed a huge and important part to stopping the Russians. And so had Francine because it had been her idea to bring him in on this one and it was always great to be proven right. The celebration had gone on for quite a while, with champagne at first and then, after Billy and a handful of others had left, they had moved on to beer and wine and when Lee had brought up that silly story about how she had drunk that Russian attaché under the table, Ned had brought out the vodka.

That was where things grew hazy. She did remember Beaman had been pretty plastered but still coherent enough to talk her ear off. She also remembered most of the others leaving, with only about five or so of them staying. She remembered Ned kicking them out and someone – Beaman, she thought but she wasn't sure – suggesting to see if they could find some other location to continue their celebration because he didn't feel like going home just yet. And that was all that she remembered. Regarding what had come after she drew a blank. But looking at her wrist she could make an educated guess that she had joined the continued celebration and that it hadn't exactly been tame.

Francine let her forehead sink against the cool, smooth surface of the mirror.  
"Effrom Beaman, I'm going to kill you."

* * *

Effrom had considered driving out to Dulles, boarding the next plane to leave the USA and running away to some godforsaken deserted island in the South Pacific. He really had, upon realizing what must have happened the previous night. He didn't remember much, only a flash here and a glimpse there but it was enough for him to piece the whole story together. Running away would do him no good, however. She had connections. She would find him and then there would be a reckoning. So – better stay here and face it like the man he always tried to be, right?

Thus he was sitting in his office, shuffling papers on his desk – written tests he had to grade. He couldn't focus on his task. Instead he was listening for the tell-tale signs of her arrival. The clicking of her heels. People scrambling our of her way. Sounds of general panic.

Not an easy task considering his pounding headache.

He closed his eyes for a moment and rested his head in his hands. Maybe he dozed off for a minute or two. Maybe not, with her you could never tell. Anyways, when he opened his eyes again she was standing right there, right before his desk, giving him an icy glare from those beautiful blue eyes.

He jumped and banged his knee on his desk.

"Party much, last night?" she asked in a deceptively silky tone.

"Francine. I – uh – I didn't hear you enter."

"That was the point." She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. "I didn't want you to hear me and run for it."

"Run for it?" He gave her a nervous laugh. "Why would I run –"  
He stopped when she lifted her right bandaged hand and wrist.

"Oh, just a guess."  
Same silky tone, same icy glare.

Effrom cast a glance at the door. Francine had closed it behind her. Dang. He tried to look at his watch without taking his eyes completely off Francine. Wasn't it time for classes or something? Sure he was late, right? Someone would come check on him – right now would be a great time.

"Don't bother", Francine told him. "Your next class doesn't start for another thirty minutes and I made sure no one's gonna interrupt this little talk. So – talk."  
She thrust her bandaged hand at him, palm up.  
"What do you know about this? And no lies. I can tell when you're lying."

"Uh, well –"  
Effrom swallowed hard and tried to back away without looking like he was backing away.  
"It – it seemed like a good idea at the time?"

Stony silence and that icy glare again.

He sighed and ran his hands through his hair.  
"I'm really sorry. I – if you want it removed I'll – well, I don't make the kind of money you earn here but I'll pay as much of it as I can and –"  
He pushed back his right sleeve to reveal the square of gauze taped to his own wrist.  
"- and if it's any consolation, you're not the only one."  
He peeled back the gauze to show her the fresh tattoo – a chess piece, a red knight.

Another, longer silence.  
Francine slowly started to unwrap the bandage around her wrist.  
"Well, at least we put _some_ thought into the design", she said.

Effrom frowned. That didn't sound like the fire and brimstone he had been expecting. Could it be – was that a hint of amusement in her voice? Impossible. He must be imagining things.  
She bent forward and held her wrist next to his. It showed another chess piece – a red queen that very obviously was a companion piece to his knight.  
Effrom looked up from her wrist to meet her gaze. The ice had melted somewhat but traces of it were still all too obvious.

"Remind me to never party with you again."  
Francine withdrew her wrist and started to wrap the bandage around it again.  
"How were you even still coherent enough to suggest we get matching tattoos?"

Effrom shrugged.  
"It could have been worse."

"Worse?" Francine asked.

"Well, we could have ended up in bed together …"

She straightened and stared at him and Effrom braced himself for being torn to little shreds.  
Nothing happened.  
She just stood there looking at him. And the corners of her mouth twitched.  
She didn't burst out laughing, though. Instead, she gave him an appraising look.  
"Why do you think I'd have considered that worse?" she asked.  
And then, she just turned and left him sitting there with his mouth hanging open.

* * *

Out in the corridor Francine finally allowed the grin to spread over her face. Yes, she had been mad at Effrom because of course it had to be his fault she had gotten that tattoo. And that thing would probably cause all kinds of issues. But on the way to the Agency – she had taken a cab because she was pretty sure that with the alcohol still left in her system from the previous night she better not attempt to drive for the next couple of days – her anger had faded. The tattoo actually looked quite nice and it was appropriate. A red queen. Very fitting indeed. That had been before she had seen Effrom's. When he had shown her she had almost burst out laughing.

"A queen and her knight", she murmured and shook her head.

Billy would throw a fit, of course. She made a mental note to look up the Agency's regulations regarding tattoos and field work. Well, whatever the outcome, one thing was perfectly clear: Once news of this incident hit the steno pool - and it would happen, sooner or later, they were an intelligence agency after all - and made the rounds of the offices and different sections, she and Beaman would never hear the end of it.


End file.
